


Squealing Tires Run by Stone

by oh2hell



Series: Drabbles [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Other, Platonic Wincest, my take on the first time Dean sold his soul for sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:41:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh2hell/pseuds/oh2hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the first time Sam died and Dean sold his soul for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (All the opinions Dean had of himself are like, the exact opposite of how I feel.... I LOVE BOTH MA BOYS)

He was kneeling in the middle of the room, covered in blood. It was these times where he let himself wish there was an out, a way out of this life without letting everyone around him down. It was his job to save the world, no one else's. He was the one with the world on his shoulders, no matter what Sam thought. And Dean wouldn't share this burden. No matter how much Sam begged. The head of one of the male vamps rolled up to Dean's knees. The mouth was hanging open, still soft lips sagging down to reveal the tips of a few smooth, white teeth, and one deadly sharp-tipped fang poking out of the upper gums. The eyes were open, the glassy blue staring up at Dean, seeming to plead with him. To ask why the person they used to be before they got turned was subjected to this fate. Looking around the room, Dean began to notice a few similarities. Every head was now turned to him. Some women, some men, some still bright eyed and exotic, others just dull. 

Dean stood and turned in a circle. Every face was pointed towards him, every eye turned to his own. The bodies that belonged to each and every one of these, these.. people were back where Dean remembered to have left them, just their heads had moved. A unanimous voice moaned out of each of the open, crying mouths. It started as a low thrum, a noise that came from nowhere but everywhere at once. It was an unsettling noise that made Dean want to get the fuck out of there. He began backing away from the head that had caught his eye, towards the door behind him. Suddenly the thrum took the shape of words. Dean wasn't aware of when the change occurred, but he realized that they were chanting the same thing, over and over again.

"It's all your fault Dean. It's your fault. There was something you could do to stop it if you tried and looked hard enough. It's your fault Dean. It's your fault."

Dean was scrambling backwards now, searching out the doorknob behind him, tripping over himself and other things that got in the way. He didn't dare look down. As soon as he was forming a reply--

 

\-- Dean woke up. He turned his head to the side and saw his little brother's cold, lifeless body stretched out on the table beside him. He knew there had to be something he could do. There's something that could bring his brother back to him. There had to be.

As Dean rolled over, an idea, a plan, began to form in his mind.


	2. Uno2

Dean had made his mind up. There wasn't much anyone could do to change his mind once he made a decision, and there sure as hell wasn't anyone right now who would even try. The man behind the wheel of the Impala wasn't the usual driver. This one was made of stone. There had been times before where Dean was driving somewhere with a certain goal, but most of the time he made it known.

That time when Sammy was in eighth grade and was getting picked on by some older kids for always moving around. Sam told Dean that he could take care of it, it wasn't that bad, they'd be moving soon anyway. Dean called bullshit. He had seen the kids that were being such jackasses in full swing, and there's no way he would let them get away with any of it. His little brother was so much better than those dickwads, and he was gonna make sure they knew that.  
That day was a nice fall day. The leaves were just colorful on the edges, still green in the middle, and they hadn't quite decided to fall yet. The sky was light blue, cloudless, and just the right temperature. It was one of those days where you were comfortable in a jacket or a t-shirt. Dean was wearing his dad's leather jacket, the hem hung a bit low, but the shoulders fit him just right. He had a gun tucked in his waistband, unloaded, that he was gonna use just to scare the pricks shitless. He didn't want to ruin their chances here completely.  
That day his face had been set with a small smile, and a shine of evil glee in his eyes.

That time when Sammy had his first heartbreak. He was dating this girl. But according to Sam, she wasn't just any girl, not just any girl that they met on the road that he had a fleeting crush on. This girl was named Maddie, and she was beautiful. She had brown hair, vivid green eyes, and pretty pink lips. She always had either her dock martins or hightop black and white chucks on. Her converses were covered in drawings and song lyrics, while her docs were in pristine shape. They were only worn down with one or two almost-holes in them. Maddie had bracelets that ran up both of her arms, two necklaces that circled her neck, and they all meant something significant to her. The rings on her fingers were just for decoration. She didn't do anything, she was as in love with Sam as he was with her. Dad had just called and told them that he was on his way back, they were moving again.  
That day was a sweet spring day. The birds were singing and the bees were buzzing at the picnic table that Dean picked Sam up at. Sam was sitting on the top, huddled in on himself when Dean arrived and sat next to him, laying his arms across his little brother's shoulders, silent and there.  
That day his face was set in ager at his father, and his eyes were gleaming with tears that he wanted to cry for his brother. 

That time when Sammy got his first gunshot wound. They were in the middle of the woods, little teenage, fragile Sammy with a shotgun and a few extra shells. Dean with his pistol and no-shit attitude that always got him into trouble with his father, and Dad with his leather jacket and rifle. Dean doesn't remember what they were hunting that day. It was another hunt on another night. Family bonding. All Dean remembers was a crushing of underbrush behind him and a soft yelp from Sam. All Dean remembers was the command that came from his father's mouth, after he had fired. "Move!" It was almost spoken as an afterthought.  
That day was a muggy summer day. The crickets were lazily chirping and singing their songs in the woods, stopping after a few shrill warnings when the Winchesters came near. His little brother was on his back with a silver bullet lodged in his left shoulder. Dad said he needed to move faster.  
That day his face was set in anger at the world. At his father, for not caring enough about his sons and too much about the hunt. At guns, Dad's in particular. At the person in front of him who was driving just too damn slow. Didn't they realize they had to get Sam to the hospital? His eyes weren't gleaming with anything that day. They were dull. They were dulled by anger, fear, and exhaustion. They were dull with the look of a man who's world is dying in the backseat with an old flannel balled up against his shoulder.

That day when Sammy went to a slumber party at his new friend's house, and he got scared because no one else realized that all the ghost stories were true. No one realized that they where the whole reason Sam was in town. Sam had been so excited to go. The Winchesters had stayed in one place long enough for Sam to actually make friends, and Dean didn't know who was more happy. Sam, or himself. Dean had driven Sam up to the nice, fancy house from the nice, fancy street. When Sam got out of the Impala with the worn-in duffle and frumpy hand-me-down jeans and flannel and nice, shiny new boots, he looked like he was a little kid again. He looked like he did before he learned about all the evil in the world and when staying in a hotel room with Dean all by himself for a week or two was the best thing he could ever think of.  
That day was a crisp winter day. Sammy's nose was constantly red, and frost would form on the windshield every morning. The Impala always took a few minutes to start and warm up on the damp cold days.  
That day Dean's face was set in a frantic expression. His eyes were skittish, and his knuckles were white. The calls he got from Sam were panicked, and so what if he was ten or so miles over the speed limit? These too-nice houses needed something interesting to happen to them.

 

This day Dean was getting his brother back. Sammy was laying on the table in the cabin, slowly rotting, deteriorating, and Dean couldn't take it. He had gotten all of the necessary materials, and he was heading towards the nearest crossroads. Sam was Dean's world, and Dean didn't really know what to do without him. Dean always measured himself in how Sammy was doing. If Sam was happy, Dean was happy and successful. If Sam was sad, or hurt, Dean had failed. It was his job to make sure Sam had the best world possible. It was his job that Sam could always find that little bit of light that wasn't hellfire in their dark world. Dean had nothing to live for without his Sammy. He was going to get his brother back, even if it killed him.  
This day, Dean didn't know what season it was. This day, Dean knew that his brother was dead and that there wasn't much he could do to fix him. This day, Dean realized that he was worth nothing compared to his sunshine of a brother. This day, Dean realized that the world would be a better place without him in it, but with Sam.  
This day, Dean's face was set in stone. The lines around his eyes and mouth were deep, like each one was a separate canyon of grief and sorrow and sadness. Like each one had it's own story. Dean's eyes were a storm. They were light with tears and excitement to see his brother again, if even for a moment, and they were dull with the drink that had never really left his system for a few years. They were dull with the knowledge that he was a dead man. They were dull with the knowledge that no matter what, nothing was going to stop him.

This day Dean sold his soul for a brother that he believed could do so much more for the world then just save it.


End file.
